


Parenting

by bluegeekEM



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, and some emotional manipulation, sentimentality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegeekEM/pseuds/bluegeekEM
Summary: Slice-of-life moments from the Enterprise crew as parents.





	1. Spock

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly written in 2010. Total and utter fluff for the following prompt: _"I'm putting out a call for completely self-indulgent kidfic. Like, show us Our Heroes reveling in the awesome parts of being a parent."_
> 
> Each chapter stands on its own - they weren't written with the intention of being connected. But hey, if you want them to be, why not?

″'Sat?″ T'Pan pointed to a readout with a chubby finger, the digits of her opposite hand clenched tightly in the cloth of Spock's uniform trousers as she walked alongside him across the empty bridge.

Spock had long since decided that proper pronunciation would develop naturally in time and that encouraging his daughter's scientific curiosity was of far greater merit than correcting her informal form of speech. She was, after all, a toddler. ″That is a sensor display. It is used to gather and reveal information needed to plan and execute missions.″

T'Pan stared at the sensor screen for a moment more before transferring her gaze to another station and pointing once again. ″'Sat?″

Spock reflected on the fact that his Vulcan training, specifically those skills related to patience and the value of educating the young, had served him well since the time that his daughter had first taken notice and interest of the universe around her. He found this stage in T'Pan's development fascinating, and far more comprehensible despite its ever-growing complexity than the initial, overwhelming stages of her life that had been comprised largely of crying and squirming and sleep deprivation. 

Looking down at his daughter's intent expression, Spock acknowledged that there was much to appreciate about those initial months as well. His mind summoned memories of nights spent walking the corridors with her tiny body cuddled to his chest, of tracing the tiny points of her ears as she slept in his arms, and of waking in the morning to the soft sounds of her coos and babbles.

″Fa?″ T'Pan broke into Spock's reverie by tugging at his trousers and looked up at him with eyes so much like his own, and so much like his mother's that he drew in a sharp breath. ″'Sat?″ T'Pan pointed more emphatically at the object of her interest.

″That is the main science station console, where I monitor sensor readings, data, and experiments when I am on duty.″

T'Pan sucked on her lower lip as she cast her eyes around the bridge again, looking for the next target of her curiosity.

T'Pan's increasing independence, exhibited this week by a strong reluctance to be carried anywhere or be assisted with such tasks as feeding herself or brushing her hair, were signs of her continual maturation and transformation from infant to child.

T'Pan was currently focused on identifying all the various people and objects that made up her world. In time, her ″What's that?″ stage would turn into the ″Why?″ stage that was so often both honored and lamented by besieged parents throughout the universe.

Spock, being a dedicated scientist, was logically, if emotionally, anticipating this development with enthusiasm.

″Fa? 'Sat?″


	2. Uhura

Nyota looked into her daughter's eyes as the lilting melody of her song wrapped around them both. Saadiya's eyes shone and her mouth formed an ″oh″ mirroring her mother's as Nyota held a long note at the end of a verse.

Saadiya rocked in Nyota's arms in time with the music and Nyota obligingly began to sway in a gentle dance.

Reaching the end of the tune, Nyota launched into a livelier song, bouncing her daughter in her arms along with the beat.

Saadiya clung to her mother's tunic with both hands, but her smile was radiant. She punctuated the song with shrieks and giggles as she practiced her control over her own vocals alongside her mother's exquisite voice. Finishing the last lines of the tune, Nyota smiled into her daughter's laughing face and then pressed her head against Saadiya's cheek. Her nipping kiss elicited further shrieks of delight from the child.

Pulling back against her mother's hold, Saadiya clapped her hands again and gazed up expectantly. 

″All right, my love. What shall we sing next?″


	3. Chekov

Pavel hadn't heard a peep from Iosif in over ten minutes. Given that they had much in common, he knew this to have the potential for disaster. Pavel's mother delighted in hearing tales of her grandson's exploits and regaled Pavel with stories from his own youth for comparison. 

Silence wasn't always bad. It could mean that his son was napping, an unusual though not unheard of event since he'd turned four three months ago, or reading one of the many books and datachips he'd amassed since teaching himself to read at the age of three-and-a-half.

It could also mean that Iosif had decided to attempt to reprogram the food synthesizer to allow for the dispensing of cookies upon request or that he was busy dismantling Pavel's tricorder simply to see what was inside.

Iosif was _much_ like Pavel had been at that age.

Pavel heard a clomping sound coming from his bedroom and rounded the corner to find his son pulling a chair over to the dresser, likely in an attempt to better see into the mirror hung on the wall. Iosif's progress was hindered by both the weight of the chair and the excess of clothing that hung from his small frame. Pavel drew in a breath at the sight of his son wearing one of Pavel's own uniform tunics, the hem hanging below Iosif's knees and sleeves rolled up several times, with his feet stuck into Pavel's second-best pair of boots.

Pavel leaned against the door frame and watched as his son struggled with the chair for several more seconds before freezing, apparently realizing he was being observed. Iosif turned and looked up at Pavel, eyes wide until he noticed Pavel's smile. Iosif's face broke into an equally wide grin and he threw himself into Pavel's open arms as quickly as his clothing permitted.

″And what are you up to in here, Iosif?″ Pavel smoothed the material of the gold tunic as he questioned his son.

″I'm practicing, Daddy! I'm _you_!″ Iosif pointed to the tunic Pavel was currently wearing to emphasize his point.

Pavel shook his head with a chuckle and planted a kiss in the middle of his son's forehead. He would have to take several holos of Iosif to send to his mother with his next message. ″You are doing an excellent job.″


	4. Sulu

The lights were set low, just enough to guide a tired new parent around a cabin cluttered with baby paraphernalia. Hikaru reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the armrest and several pillows behind his back. Demora, clad only in a diaper, curled into Hikaru's bare chest, a warm blanket tucked around them both. Spit-up stained clothing – Hikaru's sleep shirt and Demora's pajamas – lay discarded across the back of the couch.

Hikaru could feel the soft puffs of his daughter's breath against his skin and the rise of her chest under his hand. With his free hand he ran his fingers across the tips of her spiky black hair – she had a full head of it and was routinely complimented by the crew.

At the caress, Demora let out a soft, hiccup-like sigh, and Hikaru held his breath until she settled once again to sleep. Smiling down at his daughter's peaceful expression, Hikaru resettled himself against the pillows and tucked the blanket more securely around them both.


	5. Scotty

Scotty was nearly two hours late collecting Andrew from the children's rec area. The damage from a failed experiment in Engineering had resulted in two of his people winding up in Sickbay and hours worth of projected repairs. He'd remained on shift long enough to identify the cause of the problem, begin the repairs to his girl, and adjust the duty rosters to reflect both the increased manpower needed to effect those repairs and cover for his two injured staff members. Finally handing over the care of the engineering deck to his relief, Masters, Scotty detoured by Sickbay to check on the status of his people in person before reclaiming his son. 

Finding the balance between his two _bairns_ was tougher than any class the Academy had ever thrown at him.

Andy was apparently no worse for his extended stay at school and chattered the entire walk back to their quarters about the supper he'd shared with his teacher and his friends whose parents worked beta shift.

Upon their return home, Scotty sent Andrew to change into his pajamas and grabbed himself a protein bar to make up for his own missed supper – a poor replacement for actual food, he always felt, but marginally better than venturing back out to the mess to find something more suitable.

Scotty sliced an apple and had it waiting on a plate when Andrew padded back into the room. They munched on the fruit together as Andrew finished telling Scotty about his day and asked questions about the explosion in engineering, though Scotty tried to insist that it wasn't an explosion but just a ″wee disruption.″

″What would you like to do before bed, lad? Read a book? Watch a holo?″ Scotty didn't know why he bothered offering options when he knew his son preferred video games nearly to the exclusion of all other pre-bedtime rituals. 

One particularly horrible one that his son had acquired was, in Scotty's informed opinion, obnoxiously loud and complete with sound effects and irritating, repetitious theme music. That particular game also did not come with a volume control option – proof that it was _not_ created by anyone with children. It was, of course, Andy's current favorite game.

″Can we play Commanders of the Universe before bedtime? I'll promise I'll go to bed right after we unlock the secret area on level three.″ Andy held one of the game interfaces out to Scotty, eyes beseeching. ″Please, Dad?″

With a silent internal groan, Scotty acquiesced and thumbed on the device. He already had a headache - why not?

To his surprise, rather than launching into the teeth-grinding theme music, the machine emitted a soft beep to indicate it was working and then remained silent throughout the title sequence. Scotty squinted at the game and turned it over in his hands several times before raising his eyes to look at his son who was watching him intently.

″And what's happened here, lad?″

″I fixed it last night, Dad! The sounds were all the same and getting annoying.″ Andy looked positively thrilled with himself. ″I took it apart and changed the speakers and then reprogrammed it to be better.″

″Did ye now?″ Scotty studied the game for several more seconds before activating the first level. Several minutes later, after they'd managed to defeat the initial stage – with new, less painful sound effects and no background theme - Scotty paused the game and looked at his son. ″Good work, Andrew, lad. This is surely an improvement over the original. I'm proud of ye.″

Andy blushed at the praise before turning back to their game and launching them into level two.


	6. Kirk

″A complete focus on the sciences?″ Jim decided that he must be hallucinating. ″Really, David?″

David sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, but answered as though this wasn't the third time they were having this conversation. ″Yes, Dad. I'm going to focus on a science track. Astrophysics, or maybe molecular biology.″

″With this many lectures and lab courses you won't have room in your schedule for the necessary command classes. It would be academic suicide to attempt to fit it all in. Even for a genius like you.″ Jim tapped the table between them sharply, rattling the empty breakfast dishes and drawing more than one gaze their way. Though their table sat in the corner of the mess, they had no hope of privacy.

″I know that, Dad.″ David held his father's gaze and kept his voice low and reasonable. ″But it won't be a problem since I won't be _taking_ the command classes. Beyond the required core courses, I'm going to be focusing fully on the sciences.″

″Where did I go wrong?″ Jim's affected tone wasn't precisely a wail, but David rolled his eyes anyways.

″Ha ha. Your academy record shows you weren't exactly a slouch in the sciences yourself, you know. Besides, this can't have come as a surprise, even the first time we discussed my academy plans.″

″No, but I'd hoped to sway you through constant exposure to the charms of command.″ Jim's voice was, perhaps, a touch more wistful than he'd intended.

David crossed his arms. ″By complaining about all the paperwork? Or demanding that we change locations every twenty minutes in an attempt to keep your yeoman from finding you and forcing you to deal with the aforementioned stacks of paperwork?″

Jim grinned and shook his head. ″Not the best approach, I'll admit.″

″You are an excellent strategist, Dad. Which is why I know that you didn't really intend more than a token, if heartfelt, attempt to change my mind. You know exactly what it's like to have to live up to the 'Kirk' name and you know that I hate being told what to do as much as you do.″ David smiled over at his father. ″Gran _loves_ to tell stories of what a brat you were and says the trait must have come down through the Kirk side since it couldn't possibly have come from her.″

″Yeah, well, _her_ parents have told me a few stories suggesting otherwise, so apparently we never stood a chance.″ Father and son shared a wide smile.

David pushed his chair from the table. ″I've got to go confirm my final schedule and lock in my seats for my classes.″

″And I, as you so kindly reminded me, have paperwork to catch up on.″ Jim gathered their plates and returned them for sanitizing. ″Dinner tonight after shift?″

″Sounds good.″

Before father and son parted ways in the hallway, David reached out a hand and snagged his father's sleeve, much as he'd done as a child when desiring his father's attention.

″Even though I'm making a different choice than you'd hoped I would, I need you to know that it's not out of rebellion or as a reflection of my thoughts of you, either as a captain or as a father. I'm still proud,″ David paused a moment before continuing. ″Very proud, to be your son.″

Jim rested a hand briefly on top of his son's before they separated, each going their own way.


	7. McCoy

″Daddy, please?″

″You just got here, sweet pea, and it's late. Don't you want to wait until tomorrow?″ Leonard took in the stubborn set to his daughter's jaw and the hands crossed over her chest in a position clearly copied from himself and suspected that he knew the answer to his question already.

Joanna frowned up at him and shook her head firmly. ″Nope, I wanna do it _now_.″

Leonard rolled his eyes playfully at her and replied, ″How silly of me to even ask.″

″ _Very_ silly,″ Joanna agreed, then, giggling, evaded his hands as he reached out to tickled her in response to her sass.

″Go get the pen.″ Leonard watched as Joanna scampered off to his desk and searched through the drawer for several moments before extracting her target and raising it triumphantly into the air. Despite the lateness of the hour she remained bright-eyed and energetic, and Leonard knew that he would be in for a battle come bedtime.

Leonard walked over to the heavily-decorated portion of the wall beside his desk and took in the display before him: his diplomas and awards hung surrounded by various pictures and paintings given to him courtesy of Joanna. It made for an interesting contrast – the staid, framed recognitions of his work surrounded by a riot of color and style documenting the improving fine motor skills and artistic talents of his daughter since toddlerhood.

Joanna skipped to the wall beside his desk - and Leonard once again wondered how difficult bedtime would be that evening given her current barely sub-hyper energy level – and leaned against him as they both scrutinized the growth chart on the otherwise bare section of wall to the right of his workstation that had intentionally been left clear. 

The markings on the wall are irregular, both in the amount of growth between entries and the time period between markings. In some areas the marks are nearly on top of one another, indicating a short time between Joanna's visits. Others, and Leonard can't resist the twinge he feels when he looks at them, are many centimeters – and many, many months – apart from those closest to them, indicating the sometimes long stretches the _Enterprise's_ mission sometimes took them away from contact with Earth. With Joanna.

It stole his breath, sometimes, how much she grew and matured between his visits with her. Each time he saw her she was more advanced, had reached more milestones, and grew ever-more self-reliant than the previous visit. There were times when he wondered if she'd ever grow to the point where she wouldn't need him at all, a thought that scared him down to his bones.

When her limited patience ran out far sooner than Leonard's worrying ever could, Joanna thrust the pen into his hand, breaking him from his reverie, and took her place standing tall with her back to the wall. Her grin was wide and contagious and Leonard felt himself able to shake off the brief melancholy that had taken hold of him and appreciate the here and now. His daughter was here with him now, and would remain so for the next two weeks, and after that, well, they would figure it out as they always did.

Leonard took his time making sure Joanna was standing up straight – but not cheating by standing on tiptoe – and flush with the wall, checking that the marker would make a proper line, and carefully tracing Joanna's newest height onto the chart. All the while she chattered advice at him about drawing the straightest line, admonished him to use his best handwriting for the label, and asked him what in space was taking him so long.

Leonard merely smiled at her and brushed his hand through her hair. He wasn't in a rush. She'd only be this big for a short time, and he wanted to savor every moment of it that he was given.


	8. Chapel

The only light in Patrick's room was the soft blue glow of a nightlight in the shape of a long-extinct sea creature. Christine could see her son curled up under a mound of covers to one side of the bed and smiled at the distinctly mom-sized space made available for her, even in sleep. A stack of picture books laying on the floor by the bed caused a small sting in Christine's heart as she listened to Patrick's soft, even breathing.

She had missed bedtime again, the third time this rotation. She knew she'd make it up to Patrick with an extra book tomorrow night (though considering the time on the chrono, she'd be more accurate referring to it as _tonight_ ) and maybe a special breakfast in the morning since she was due for a full cycle off before switching to a rotation on gamma shift.

Though that would ensure even more missed bedtime stories, at least she'd spend the rotation on board rather than planetside on the outreach rotation, at the mercy of diplomacy and weather-related interruptions that could unexpectedly delay the end of her shifts and the return to her son. 

Regardless of those frustrations, with the successful delivery of the bulk of the newly-developed vaccines and confirmed plans for distribution by the Kieressians themselves throughout the next week, Christine could sleep more peacefully knowing that fewer parents on the planet would have to sit vigil at their sick child's bedsides wondering if they would survive the night. And _that_ served as a balm to her conscience, however inadequate it was in the face of her mother's guilt.

It was that thought that made Christine's decision for her: though she would both probably sleep more soundly in her own bed, she couldn't resist accepting the invitation to curl up next to her not-a-baby-anymore, run her fingers through his silky blond hair, and fall asleep to the sound of his soft breaths.


	9. Cupcake

Lieutenant Gregory P. Hendorff, known to some as ″Cupcake″ and, more importantly, to a certain five year-old, as ″Daddy,″ was on his third circuit of the Deck 5 corridor and was starting to tire. His passenger, however, was definitely not.

″Faster, Daddy!″ Matthew's voice held no hint of fatigue, unsurprising given that he wasn't the one hauling tail around the ship with a growing child on his back.

″Don't you think it's about time for dinner, Mattie?″ Greg couldn't restrain the hint of hope in his tone.

″Awww, Dad.″ Matthew's petulant tone was already effective and Greg lived in fear of what would happen when the child hit the teenage years. ″You promised we could play all afternoon!″

″That's true, I did promise.″ Greg bounced his son upwards with a heave, resettling him against his back more securely, and set off again. He moved at a slower pace than the previous circuit, but Matthew offered no complaints so long as Greg responded appropriately to his son's steady chatter about ″riding the plains″ and ″searching for bandits″ down each of the hallways.

Despite his twinging muscles, Greg couldn't help but appreciate the Matthew's active imagination and eagerness to include his father in most of his games. Matthew was growing like a weed, and Greg knew that their piggyback riding days were numbered and that eventually spending time with his father running around a starship wouldn't be the height of fun and excitement.

They were interrupted partway through circuit five when the captain emerged from his cabin just as they were passing by. Greg narrowly avoided a collision and then snapped to attention – more challenging than it looks with a second person clinging to one's back – as the captain smiled at them both in recognition.

″At ease, Lieutenant.″ Kirk waved away Greg's stiff stance and eyed both father and son. Greg had a feeling that Kirk didn't miss a thing with his appraisal.

″Thank you, sir.″

″And how are you, Matthew?″ Kirk asked the question directly to Matthew, and Greg knew without even seeing his face that his son loved the direct acknowledgment.

″I'm good. Dad and I are catching bandits!″

″Excellent work.″ Kirk grinned and flicked a glance to Greg before returning his gaze to Matthew. ″I'll bet all that hard work's making you hungry. I hear the kitchen is serving brownies today. Good bandit-fighting food.″

Greg felt his son tense with excitement. ″Dad! Hey Dad, can we go have dinner now? With brownies?″

Greg offered a supremely grateful expression in Kirk's direction before replying, ″Sounds like a plan, Mattie.″ He turned to the captain. ″Sir?″

Kirk smiled at them both. ″Dismissed, gentlemen. Enjoy your meal.″


	10. Pike

Christopher Pike knew he'd already asked her too many questions, repeated himself too many times and that his daughter, Cassandra, was swiftly reaching the end of her patience. What little she'd been graced with at birth, at least. Still, he couldn't help himself. ″Did you-″

″Dad! Stop backseat flying!″ His daughter's voice revealed only a mild irritation rather than true strain at his attempts to coddle her.

″Cass, I'm sitting right next to you, for one. And two, I'm your copilot, it's my _job_.″

Cass rolled her eyes, a sight to which Chris had grown disturbingly accustomed. They then stared at each other for several seconds, neither willing to budge, before breaking into matching smiles. 

Cass sighed, finally responding. ″Alright, alright. _Yes_ I'm strapped in, as are you, and I've triple checked all my systems, and the flight plan, and received clearance for departure at our leisure. Which I already know means 'get your asses off that shuttle pad and make room for the next one.'″

Chris rechecked his restraints and caught a slight bob of Cass' head out of the corner of his eye which probably signaled another eye roll. ″Alright, take us out.″ Cass eyed him critically, eyebrow raised. ″What?″

″Whatever happened to 'punch it,' Dad?″

″No! No punching. I want you to take it slow and easy the whole way. And remember to turn off the parking brake.″

″Har har.″

Cass raised her hands to the controls and Chris watched, entranced, as she performed one last systems and clearance check before beginning their shuttle run. Chris could see it in her face, the love, the _belonging_ that filled his daughter at the prospect of flight. 

Cass' eyes shone, both with the reflected light from the monitors and the internal brightness that they all had, the ones meant to be up there, to be _out there_. Her mouth quirked in a slight smile despite her attempts at restraint. Chris could hear the cadence of her breaths change as the shuttle rose, frequency increasing as she turned, realigned, and corrected for weather conditions. And soon would be the familiar pause, the held breath, as they broke atmosphere and stars filled the viewscreen, the vastness of space spread before them, waiting and calling.

Chris knew she felt it, just as he did. He knew Cass would follow the call.


	11. Gaila

If resisting her captors, escaping enslavement, and joining Starfleet didn't count as a definitive break from her past and thereby earning herself status as the head of her own line, then nothing would.

And if that were true, then it was within Gaila's right to take a new name for herself, in keeping with the traditions of the women in her family who had done the same. To choose a name from the beginning of the Orion alphabet, to signal her break. Then she would choose a name for her daughter with the next letter, and her daughter's daughter, should she have one, would then claim a name from the third letter.

It wasn't strictly an Orion custom, but one specific to her family and held dear amongst the women in Gaila's line.

Her current family, the one she'd _chosen_ and with whom she shared the _Enterprise_ , held dear a myriad of different customs. Many had commonalities spanning multiple species. The naming of children after family members who had come before them was popular, as was maintaining a rhyming or lettering structure amongst those of individual family units. Some held certain letters in high regard, while others felt that a name must reflect a person's soul and so names were changed at the age of majority when a child could choose one of their own.

Gaila found the process of examining these naming conventions both fascinating and frustrating because she did not know how she could ever choose among all of the options for herself and her child. 

It had been a difficult decision, but months of pregnancy and thirty hours of labor had given Gaila ample time to debate the issue. Hearing the sound of her daughter's first cry, Gaila had decided how she would honor both her heritage and her current life. With her daughter placed warm and wet onto her chest, and with their first feel and scent of each other, Gaila had decided upon a name.

She drove her friends and crewmates crazy because she refused to share the name with them, but they would know soon enough. The first to hear the name out loud, however, must be her daughter.

She was Gaila. She always had been and she always would be. No one had ever or could ever take that from her. Her name, her heritage, was hers to live with as she chose. She would continue in her mother's tradition and name her daughter according to their custom, but in honor of her current life, her _chosen_ life, Gaila chose a name for her daughter using the letter following hers in the _Terran_ alphabet. Her daughter could choose what traditions to observe for her own children; this one was right for Gaila. Her daughter could have a part of her past with her, but also a part of their present and future. 

She would be something entirely new; she would be herself.

Sitting in a chair in the observation lounge, gazing out into space and feeling the familiar wonder that she was _here_ , Gaila knew she'd been right. She held her daughter to her chest, ran a finger across her cheek, and felt an entirely _new_ wonder. She had created this child. She took in a deep breath and said, ″Your name is Hana, and you can be anyone you want to be.″


	12. George

It took him three and a half circuits of the old barn before George caught up with his giggling four year-old son George ″Sam″ Jr. Sam was gifted with a terrifyingly high energy level and George was doing his part to ensure everyone a good night's sleep that night, the theory being that so long as Sam played hard during the day he would sleep hard at night. To that end, they'd spent most of the day exploring, climbing, wrestling, and running around outside.

George was also acutely aware that both he and Winona would be leaving for the Kelvin mission in just over a month's time and wanted to eke out every spare moment with Sam that he could between mission briefings and preparatory exercises. Though they would be leaving their son in the competent and loving hands of his grandparents, the thought of nearly six months away from Sam weighed heavily on both George and Winona's minds. 

Their skills were needed, however, and as Starfleet officers they were obliged to answer the call. The promise of an extended shoreleave following the mission, however, was also a significant draw. Five and a half months would be cutting things close to the wire, but would pay off in the end.

Interrupting his father's thoughts, Sam threw himself into his father's arms and George caught him up and tickled the shrieking, laughing boy who flailed with no regard for the risk of a chance meeting between his limbs and his father's face. George supposed it was better than the previous week when Sam had accidentally hit him in a far more tender area during a lesson in ″tackle″ football. Winona had, of course, laughed herself sick. When she'd finally been able to catch her breath she'd commented that, after a shot like that, it was a good thing he'd already knocked her up because otherwise she'd question his ability to help her provide Sam with a sibling. 

He'd been somewhat less inclined towards sympathy regarding her wretched morning sickness for three days following the incident, though he did admit that the flush of merriment that crossed her features every time she replayed the holo – because _of course_ she'd been filming when it happened – was a far sight better than the pallor she'd been sporting recently courtesy of her multiple daily trips to the head to evacuate the contents of her stomach. Forcefully. Accompanied by surprisingly vile threats against his person each time she laid eyes on him as she made her way past him with a hand to her mouth.

This new child was likely going to be an even bigger handful than Sam considering the mischief he or she was already causing.

George heard a piercing whistle from the direction of the house and both he and Sam turned towards the sound. Winona stood on the porch of the old house and waved them in. He rearranged his hold on Sam, who was finally showing the early signs of fatigue, and carried him over to the porch. ″Bath night tonight, boys,″ Winona reminded them, reaching out to ruffle Sam's sweaty hair. 

″With bubbles?″ Sam asked, hopefully. 

″Yup.″ She replied, smiling at him.

″Woo hoo!″ Sam threw both arms into the air and, with a child's endless trust in his parent, launched himself backwards within George's arms. Familiar with this maneuver, George allowed him to angle backwards until Sam was hanging upside-down, though still supported securely. George's giggles resumed for a moment before he fell silent and contemplated his mother from his new vantage point. He stretch out an arm to poke her stomach gently. ″Is that where the baby lives?″

George exchanged a look with Winona. Sam's grasp of the impending arrival was abstract at best thus far, given that there wasn't yet visual proof of his sibling-to-be beyond fuzzy images more closely resembling a blob than a baby.

″Yes. He's going to live here for several more months to grow bigger before he comes out,″ Winona explained, pressing a hand atop Sam's on her stomach.

Sam pulled his hand back and wriggled in George's arms until he was set on the wooden floorboards between his parents. He raised his hand to pat her abdomen again with an intent look on his face. ″But how did the baby get in there?″

Well crap. George exchanged another look with Winona, who raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. He was sure his answering expression screamed, _What, throwing me to the wolves now, are you?_ Her smirk made it clear that, yes, she was indeed.

He held a hand out for Sam to grasp and led him inside and towards the stairs. ″Let's talk about it while we get ready for your bath, okay?″ He'd handle this challenge of parenthood, and face it as bravely as any enemy he'd faced in the past. This couldn't possibly be harder than some of the shit the Starfleet brass had thrown at him in the past, right?

As he tried to decide on how best to approach this talk with a four year old, a thought struck him and he smiled briefly. He'd handle the conversation about how the baby got _in_ , but George fully intended to make Winona field the inevitable question of how the baby would be getting _out_.


	13. Keenser

When Ranska was an infant she had been perfectly content to be carried around in a sling snugged tightly against his chest or side as Keenser did minor and safe repairs around the ship. As she grew, however, she became less interested in merely watching the world pass around her and grew far more interested in interacting with it directly. 

Keenser had built several toys to attract her attention and build her skills in many areas of child development and he enjoyed the way Ranska's eye-stalks twitched each time he presented her with a new plaything to explore. 

The discovery of new toys and educational tools proved to be an excellent encouragement to Ranska's development of new skills. Keenser had enjoyed watching as she learned to roll, crawl, and cruise around their quarters or the school in search of the objects that had attracted her attention. 

Now Keenser watched from the hallway as Ranska stood against a chair gripping the seat tightly and contemplated the journey across the room to her newest game, a brightly colored, child-sized PADD that flashed lights and played a variety of sounds depending on which buttons she pushed. 

She had been cruising along furniture and standing unassisted for some time now, however had not yet ventured to take her first unaided steps. This was perhaps her moment to attempt the feat and though Keenser knew that he only had twenty minutes to collect their supplies and take Ranska to the school deck before his shift began, he did not want to miss his daughter's exploration of a new method of travel. 

He watched as Ranska eyed her target and shifted her weight from side to side, holding tightly to the chair all the while. Then, before his eyes, Keenser watched as she released the chair and took six toddling steps across the middle of the room before pausing. Seemingly having just noticed what she'd done, Ranska paused and turned to look back to her starting position. The movement threw her off balance and she tumbled onto her padded bottom, but shrugged off the change in elevation and finished the remainder of her journey on hands and knees.

Keenser watched Ranska for several more minutes as she played and he reminisced as well as thought of the future. 

Today's six steps were only the beginning; soon Ranska would be clambering throughout the ship and assisting him in driving Chief Engineer Scott to further distraction.


	14. Amanda

Vulcan newborns were not much different from human ones, it turned out, and for that Amanda was secretly (or perhaps not that secretly, considering the perceptiveness of her husband) grateful. Difficult to imagine, she knew, considering the stereotypical human view of all Vulcans, including the youngest of the species, was that they were calm, quiet, and taciturn in all situations. As Amanda rose for the fourth time that night to see to her squalling son, she wondered at how that assumption could have taken life when one considered that the Vulcan mastery over emotion was a learned one and that the belief in the superiority of logic in all things was a conscious decision.

But no, Vulcan children, like human ones and therefore Vulcan-human hybrids, were need-filled creatures complete with inconsistent sleep cycles, small stomachs, immature neurological systems, and the need for contact. 

Having soothed, fed, and rocked her son to the point of drowsiness, Amanda gazed down at the child snuggled in the crook of her arm. Spock was so like his father already, from his dark hair and barely-there sharply slanted eyebrows to the tiny points of his ears and the oft-furrowed brow. 

As Amanda ran her finger down his soft cheek and under his chin, smiling down at her sleepy son, Spock gifted her with a wide, gummy smile that soon turned into a yawn. It was a moment she knew would be rare once Spock grew past toddlerhood, and she intended to cherish every single human expression she was gifted with.


	15. Winona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: this one is a bit sadder than all of the others.

With the sudden release from the unbearable pressure and wrenching pain, Winona's breath was stolen from her and didn't return until she heard the most rewarding wail that she could possibly imagine. She collapsed back against the pillows and closed her eyes against the sweaty strands of hair that fell into her face. 

She opened them again when she felt one of the medics cover her with a blanket and saw the doctor walking to her holding a bundle loosely swaddled in white cloth. She'd heard him cry and he sounded just as vibrant and angry as Sam had when he'd been born. The doctor didn't look alarmed, or at least any more alarmed than she'd looked this entire time, and Winona knew it meant that the baby was alright. He _had_ to be.

And yet she still feared for him. Premature, and born quickly enough that there hadn't been time to assess whether he really was healthy enough to be born so soon, there were so many things that could have gone wrong even _without_ considering they were in the midst of a battle and evacuation...

But there was no more time to think because the squirming baby was settled into her waiting arms. For the briefest of moments Winona allowed her eyes to close in relief at the sight of him before snapping open again. For all that he was nearly a month premature and born in the midst of a hellish nightmare, the baby was... perfect. Skin a ruddy pink and still shiny and damp, he waved his arms and kicked his feet within the confines of the cloth. He was somehow incredibly small and yet still the round and chubby baby she'd dreamed of so often. His eyes opened and they were so dark and he seemed to stare directly at her with a solemnity that did not mesh with a being only moments old.

He was perfect.

Of course he was, she thought, her mind filled with wonder at his little face. He was hers and he was George's. Kirks never backed down from risk and adventure, and really, she should have _expected_ a child of theirs to choose the least opportune moment to arrive and make his impression, damnit.

And then she heard George, his voice expectant and sounding on the verge of tears. “What is it?”

Winona thought she might burst with the inability to contain everything that she was trying to feel and say and do. “It's a boy.”

“A boy?” George sounded so thrilled. “Tell me about him.”

Winona held her son's tiny hand in her own as her heart screamed, feeling like it was tearing itself apart with the wild rush of such drastically conflicting emotions. “He's beautiful.” She stared at their child, drinking in the sight of him while her husband waited on the other end of a shaky comm signal. Her smile felt as though it were half grimace.

“George, you should be here.”


	16. Sarek

Sarek spent the majority of the journey home from the Science Academy in thought, planning his words carefully. His conversation with his mate tonight was to be an important one.

He had begun months ago by identifying several potential names that met Vulcan tradition in varying ways and assessing his wife's response. Although none had been deemed fit for their child, he wasn't concerned: Sarek hadn't considered those offerings serious contenders. Instead, he had used Amanda's responses as an opportunity to gather data on the style of Vulcan names she found most appealing.

He garnered a more positive response with names beginning with the “S” or “K” sounds rather than “L” or “T,” as well as with names consisting of no more than two syllables. She also preferred names with more consonants and harsher sounds rather than softer vowels. Her preferred, though not selected, names were not unlike his own name, Sarek mused.

Further suggestions had been offered with more serious intent, though still had not been deemed suitable for their son. Sarek had even suggested a number of Human-typical names for her consideration, but Amanda's only response was that while she appreciated his thoughtfulness, since they intended to raise their child on Vulcan, a Vulcan name would be more appropriate.

Sarek knew that having a name that met Vulcan expectations would not shield their child form the challenges ahead of him as the part-human child of a high-profile member of Vulcan society, but at the very least the child would not be seen as flagrantly flaunting his differences.

Walking into the living space, Sarek found Amanda in a light doze upon the couch, lying on her side with one hand lightly resting upon the proof of their son's presence within her body. On a personal level, He thought that it would not be a fault to emphasize some aspects of their son's humanity. He did anticipate, after all, that the child would learn much from his admirable wife and would benefit from her proximity as Sarek himself did. Amanda was remarkably resilient, clear-headed, and capable of logic, for a human, and Sarek hoped their son would also benefit from those examples, as well as his own teaching in the Vulcan way.

It would not do, however, to resist the wishes of his mate. Amanda had made it clear that while she deferred to him in the discovery of a proper name for their child, as the one responsible for the vast majority of his initial growth and development – and as the one at the mercy of the same - she retained veto power.

“Hello, my dear.”

Sarek raised his eyes to Amanda's face and caught her tired smile. “Good evening, my wife.”

Amanda reached her hands out and beckoned him to her, allowing him to help lever her into a sitting position so he could sit alongside her.

“You have something on your mind, my husband,” Amanda said, when his silence had gone on longer than she considered typical. Her face exhibited concern and Sarek had no wish to prolong her worry.

“I would like to make a suggestion for the naming of our son.” Hearing Amanda's soft _ah_ , he continued. “It is a name of historic import, belonging to one of the pillars of early Vulcan society. It is also a name of renown but not one in extremely common usage in the present day. It is logical to consider the benefits of showing honor to Vulcan history without sacrificing practicality.” 

Seeing Amanda's growing smile but not understanding what it meant in this instance, Sarek felt it best to continue his reasoning. “It is also one that would not be viewed as difficult to grasp by the human tongue. Additionally-”

“Sarek,” Amanda interrupted with a quiet voice and her hand upon his. “Do not keep me in suspense. What would you like to name our son?”

Sarek turned his hand so his fingertips could caress those of his mate. “I propose the name 'Spock.'” 

“Spock.” Amanda said the name slowly, enunciating precisely, as though savoring the word as it passed her lips. Her eyes shifted laterally as they often did when she was in thought. “Spock.”

Her smile, when she turned back to him, was wide and as brilliant as the Vulcan sun.

**Author's Note:**

> And this is it! I can hardly believe that I managed to pick up and finish a project I'd started 6 years ago - yikes! It feels really good to have rounded out the series, though. And to feel creative and inspired again - bliss ;)
> 
> I adore comments and would love the opportunity to read your thoughts, if you are able to share them.


End file.
